


For so Long, After so Much

by FicLogia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall, Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Getting Together, Human Derek Hale, Hurt Derek, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Derek Hale, Kidnapping, Leg Injury, M/M, Pack Shenanigans, Permanent Injury, Recovery, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, car crash, let me know if I missed a tag, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicLogia/pseuds/FicLogia
Summary: “I know the fear, Stiles. I know it well. But, let’s not–” Derek entwined their fingers together, “let’s stop letting it stop us from going ahead and getting to know something else, something better, something happier. We’ve played this game long enough, don’t you think?” He finished with a soft smile, trying to catch Stiles’ gaze.Stiles’ head stubbornly remained turned down.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Ethan/Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski
Comments: 18
Kudos: 177





	1. For so Long

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Benaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benaya/gifts).



> Some time ago, I was very inspired by this [this](https://benaya-trash.tumblr.com/post/182662766337/in-which-stiles-was-bitten-by-an-alpha-and-then) wonderful work by the wonderful-er @Benaya 
> 
> This fic is born from the desire to make her feel the same feelings that I felt. I hope I somewhat succeeded haha. 
> 
> Check out this awesome lady at:  
> [tumblr](https://benaya-trash.tumblr.com/)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/benaya_trash/)
> 
> I would also like to give a shoutout to @KaliopeShipsIt for beta-ing this bad boy. Thanks with all the love

They didn’t get together. Not after Monroe and graduation. Not after Derek sacrificed part of himself and became human so Stiles can go on living as a turned wolf. Not even after Derek became Stiles’ first beta.

But everyone knew.  
  
There was something between them. Something unaddressed, something quiet. Something waiting and full of promise.  
  
They didn’t get together, no. Not for so long. Not after so much. But everyone, even the two of them, they all knew.   
  
It was only a matter of time. 

\-----

Stiles watched Derek as he sat on the kitchen counter by the window, the sunset bathed him in a warm, golden glow. They were in the kitchen of the rebuilt Hale house entertaining guests. 

It was a pack from Nevada looking for an alliance. Talk of the legendary new Hale pack led by two alphas — the first True Alpha in centuries and the scarred alpha with a spark — had reached farther and wider than any of them could ever have anticipated. More and more supernatural creatures were making the pilgrimage to Beacon Hills to safeguard Stiles and Scott’s protection and favor. 

This particular pack had been in town since the early morning. Negotiations had thankfully come to an end. 

Stiles and Scott had more or less come to an agreement with the visiting alpha — a tall, impassive woman named Johanna with an impressive build and graying hair — that they will provide each other aid in time of need, and stay out of each other’s business as much as possible. 

The rest of their packs had dispersed, scattered across the open-plan concept first floor of the house, mingling and making polite talk. 

They won’t be throwing barbecue parties together anytime soon, even Scott could see that. But there was respect among them, and most of the visiting pack’s members found something in common with the most of theirs. 

There was one wolf though that caught Stiles’ wary eye. 

Jared. A giant of a man with muscles that had him towering over Stiles and Scott’s leaner physique. He was outspoken, abrasive, and self-important. He tried to anoint himself as Johanna’s spokesperson during the negotiations and made a point of interrupting Stiles and Scott at every turn, trying to get more out of the deal for his pack than what was necessary or fair. 

Stiles could smell his shits for brains from a mile away, and based on the cautionary and annoyed looks Johanna was throwing at Jared even at that moment, he’d say she was getting a whiff of the stench, too. 

But none of that was what made Stiles single the beta out. There will always be that one ambitious wolf who liked to bite more than they can chew. Stiles got that, he can easily ignore that and sweep it under the rug. 

No, it wasn’t the trademark dudebro arrogance that made Stiles stalk Jared’s every move with watchful eyes. It was the way he looked at Derek. 

Derek had...grown _soft_ since becoming human. That’s not to say he had gotten weak, no. After becoming human, they quickly learned that Derek’s talent laid more with guns than it ever did with fangs and claws. No, Derek and weakness were two things that will never coincide. It was just that, well, Derek started letting himself relax more. 

He no longer fought to have the final say during pack meetings or alliance talks, no longer tried to put up a front of cold-hearted grit, of knowing all. He finally shed the mantle of being responsible for everything and everyone, and finally let himself enjoy the softer things in life. 

Like sitting in the gentle heat of the sunset while listening to his pack get another small win at establishing peace in the supernatural world. 

The point was, Derek had changed since becoming human, something about him mellowing out, growing gentler. And Jared, Jared eyed Derek as if that newfound gentleness was an opportunity and an invitation. 

Stiles didn’t like it. 

\-----

Wolves like Jared, Stiles knew what they saw in Derek — a purebred wolf, blessed with a distinguished family name in the supernatural community, wealthy, strong. A traitor and a moron, for throwing away his wolf and the full shift for a human. A chance, to better their status in the werewolf community, to prove their worth. A challenge. 

And while Stiles knew that Derek was no damsel in distress, he’d be damned if he let anyone come close to hurting him again. Not just because he was Derek’s alpha or because he owed Derek his life. 

Stiles was just...protective when it came to his sourwolf. 

Catching Jared walking towards Derek as the latter sat contentedly on the sidelines, Stiles’ protectiveness flared up, his wolf frantically telling him to do something. So Stiles marched towards Derek, deliberately blocking him from the beta’s line of sight. 

Jared stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Hey, big guy,” Stiles greeted, catching Derek’s attention, “Why’re you sitting here all by your lonesome, I thought we were working on making friends?”

Derek scoffed. “You want me to talk to them? I thought you wanted this pack’s alliance.” 

Stiles smiled at that. “Oh c’mon. We both know half of them are hoping to win your hand in marriage,” he teased, nudging Derek with an elbow. “I think you actually made Johanna blush for the first time in her life.”

Derek ducked his head down and chuckled. 

Stiles took the opportunity to flash red alpha eyes at Jared, who was still watching them. 

_You even think about it, you spineless dog turd,_ Stiles tried to communicate telepathically _, You even think about hurting him, I will maim you until you beg me to kill you._

Jared glared right back and, for a second, Stiles thought the beta would actually be stupid enough to challenge him. Stiles would just love to indulge him. But then Johanna popped into view and started pushing Jared away from Stiles and Derek. 

Jared tried to resist. The alpha whispered something in her beta’s ear, Jared turned pale and promptly hightailed it to the other direction. 

Johanna turned back to Stiles, who gave her a small nod of gratitude. 

When Stiles turned back to Derek, Derek was watching him with knowing hazel eyes. 

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know.” 

“I know,” Stiles conceded, “I just…”

“You’re the alpha now and I’m the fragile human,” Derek filled in, eyes tracing the scar running down Stiles left cheek, over the left-hand corner of his lips, until a little under his mouth. “How the turntables,” he tried to joke. 

Stiles bumped their shoulders together in comfort. Whether he was doing it for Derek or to soothe his own guilt, he wasn’t sure. “Nah. It’s because you’re the pack’s old man. We worry about you, grandpa.”

Derek looked away from the scar and turned his gaze to that mischievous grin he fell in love with ages ago. It always made his sacrifice worth it all over again. Didn’t stop him from pushing Stiles until the alpha was flailing off the counter though. 

Stiles let him. 

\-----

It took three months for them to receive word about Jared’s expulsion from Johanna’s pack.

Two weeks of nothing. Of Stiles and Scott keeping vigilant, always an ear out for news of a feral omega rampaging towards Beacon hills. Of the pack being on high alert, always guarding Derek, mothering him to his wit’s end. (Under Stiles’ orders, of course, and Scott’s allowance).

And then one day, Derek somehow managed to sweet-talk Kira into letting him go up the roof alone. 

He appreciated everyone’s concern, he told her. _I really do. But having everyone around me all the time, it’s suffocating._

When that didn’t work, he played dirty. He pulled the human card.

_I know everyone means well. That you’re all just doing this because I’m human now and weak._

But it’s just the roof, he reasoned, already seeing her resolve waver. He just needed a minute alone. To breathe. He wasn’t even leaving the building. He was sure Kira would hear or smell if Jared tried to come for him.

Kira, bless her heart, she caved. Because she was a sweetheart like that. And because Derek was her favorite. 

Derek was barely five minutes out on the rooftop before someone grabbed him from behind, a hand covering his mouth with a funny smelling napkin. 

He had a brief second to feel guilty for manipulating Kira, certain that his best friend would blame herself for this, and then– 

\-----

It turned out Jared wasn’t just all bark, all bite, and no brain. He also didn’t possess the ability to pick his fights carefully. Wisely. Because the asshole took Derek. 

Stiles looked at Scott, Scott simply nodded at him. 

\-----

_Shits for brains_ , Derek remembered, _that’s what Stiles called him._

He strained to look up at the barely-familiar wolf with his left eye, his right eye swollen shut hours ago after Jared got a little too handsy when Derek first tried talking some sense into him. He didn’t know why the guy got so turnt, he was just laying out some truths. 

Derek scoffed at himself. _Turnt, truths._ God, the pack was right. He was spending too much time with Stiles. 

Stiles who had been in this position, literally and figuratively, probably a million times before him. 

Hands tied behind his back, arms wound around the back of a very uncomfortable chair, body aching after a proper beating from some bad guy who was really just an asshole with plenty of unresolved self-esteem issues. 

This feral omega, this wannabe-alpha. _What an entitled prick_ , Derek thought. And he said as much. 

Jared tried to threaten him, to scare him into– what did this guy even expect, really? That he would scare Derek into falling in love with him? Submitting to him?

He had faced kanimas before, storm riders, dread doctors, Kate. He’d looked at Death come to take Stiles away from him and promptly told it to fuck the hell back to wherever it came from. And Death listened.

What was this guy thinking?

Jared turned around with a glowing iron rod. Apparently he was thinking of branding him. 

\-----

He heard Derek screaming and Stiles knew. This Jared, _Mr. Shits For Brains_ was not going to make it out of that warehouse alive or in one recognizable piece. 

\-----

Derek blinked against the bright white light and knew he wasn’t dead. He blinked again, and yep, he can only see with one eye. 

There was something white, scratchy, and irritating covering his right eye. He went to touch it, but when he tried to lift his arm, he could barely move his fingers. 

He felt so weak, why did he feel so weak? 

He kept trying to move his arm, until he felt another set of fingers carefully wrap around his, a calloused thumb stroking circles in his palm. 

“Easy, Der.”

Derek turned his head or tried to, but apparently, there was a brace around his neck. No choice, he settled for looking to the left with his one functioning eye. “Stiles...Where...” 

_Where am I, what happened?_

“We’re in Beacon Hills,” Stiles informed him. “You’re in the hospital.”

Had been for a while going by the unkempt look Stiles was sporting — unruly, greasy hair, circles under his eyes, wrinkled shirt, and is that...dried blood on his collar? 

_He’s been biting his lips, too._

“That omega’s gone,” Stiles continued. “The doctors said you’re gonna be here for a couple of days but there’s no permanent damage.” 

He wasn’t looking at him. Stiles was holding his hand, but he was refusing to look at him. “Your eye is gonna heal, so will your leg. You’ll feel weak for a bit because you’ve been unconscious for four days, but you should get your strength back soon.”

“Stiles.”

“The doctor’s prescribing physical therapy for your shoulder and your knee. Don’t worry, the pack’s already working out our schedules so we can go with you. Melissa also promised to stay with you the whole time.”

“Stiles.”

“Oh, everyone’s fine. And Johanna’s pack, there’s no conflict there. She’s just bummed she couldn’t get to that shithead before I–,” Stiles stopped and cleared his throat, “Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what I did to him. But he’s gone, Derek. And he’s never coming back, not even Peter-style, I made sure of it. And he’ll be a warning to anyone who’d ever try, who would even _think_ they could take you, and use you, and hu-”

Derek used all the strength he had to pull his hand from Stiles’ and lift it up to lay on Stiles’ cheek, his fingers careful as they rested on the scar just below Stiles’ lips. 

“Hey.” Those amber eyes finally settled on him. “You found me.” Derek quirked his lips in what he hoped looked like a smile. 

“I took so long.” Stiles bit out, clenching his jaw. His lips turned down in an upset frown. “I’m sorry.” 

“Shut up. You found me, that’s all that matters.”

“But–” Stiles cut himself off, eyes unsubtly glancing at Derek’s chest, flashing alpha red for a split second.

 _Ah_ , so he passed out when Jared...an exhausted part of him, the one buried deep, deep inside, the part that survived Kate and Jennifer gave a very tired sigh. The asshole _branded_ him. 

Stiles’ frown deepened. “They said it’ll scar.” 

This time Derek sighed outwardly. _Bummer_ , but still, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Stiles gave him a look that said _‘yeah, right’_. Derek threw a bitchface right back. For a solid minute, they stared each other down, until Stiles eventually caved in and scoffed out a laugh. 

Fine. If Derek can still bitch at him with nothing but his eyebrows, then obviously they would be just fine. 

Stiles looked up at him again, this time the guilt in his eyes replaced by a softness that just told Derek he was about to say or do something stupid. 

“Derek, I lo–”

 _There it is, the stupid_. 

Derek held his hand up. “Stop,” he reached for Stiles’ hand, Stiles giving it to him obligingly. 

“Not like this. We’re not doing it like this.” Filled with desperation and regret. With him in a hospital bed, hurting all over, barely recovered, and marked. _Christ._

Stiles carefully threaded their fingers together, smiling fondly at his sourwolf. 

“Okay, so how are we doing this?”

“Well,” Derek pulled at their hands folded together and rested it on his chest, over the mark because fuck the asshole who left it there, “First you’re going to take me out on a date. Somewhere with ambiance and good food.”

Stiles chuckled, “Alright, the diner it is.”

“And then we’ll second-guess a little more, just to keep the pack on their toes.”

They grinned at each other. “Gotta stay on-brand, I agree.”

“Then, after a few days, you’ll finally push me up against a wall, carry me to your bedroom with your stupid Deadpool sheets, and fuck me the way that I fucking deserve.” 

Stiles snorted at that and saluted, “Yes, sir.” 

Derek smiled at the sight of him and gave their hands still folded together a quick kiss. Stiles’ gaze turned soft once more. 

“Then we finally say it?” asked the alpha. 

“Yeah, we finally say it.”

\-----

They didn’t. 

Despite what they agreed on that day in the hospital room, neither Derek nor Stiles confessed to each other after Derek got out of the hospital. 

There was the plan for a date, yes. But first, there were check-ups and worried packmates. There was physical therapy and Stiles taking an exhausted and frustrated Derek home. Then there was bad news about Derek’s knee and online surfing for temporary walking canes. 

There were so many things, so many distractions. The two of them kept finding themselves looking at each other, always with that understanding and that promise of almost.

And then– 


	2. After so Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know the fear, Stiles. I know it well. But, let’s not–” Derek entwined their fingers together, “let’s stop letting it stop us from going ahead and getting to know something else, something better, something happier. We’ve played this game long enough, don’t you think?” He finished with a soft smile, trying to catch Stiles’ gaze.
> 
> Stiles’ head stubbornly remained turned down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some time ago, I was very inspired by this [this](https://benaya-trash.tumblr.com/post/182662766337/in-which-stiles-was-bitten-by-an-alpha-and-then) wonderful work by the wonderful-er @Benaya 
> 
> This fic is born from the desire to make her feel the same feelings that I felt. I hope I somewhat succeeded haha. 
> 
> Check out this awesome lady at:  
> [tumblr](https://benaya-trash.tumblr.com/)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/benaya_trash/)
> 
> I would also like to give a shoutout to @KaliopeShipsIt for beta-ing this bad boy. Thanks with all the love

Derek didn’t think anything of the rain. 

Since becoming human, being more cautious and conscious about his newfound mortality had been drilled into him by his entire pack. After the recent kidnapping incident, it was like he enrolled for a refresher course on How Easy You Can Die as a Human When You Still Act Like You’re a Werewolf 101. From Stiles to Scott, to the Sheriff, he’d been given his own morbid version of the birds and the bees talk more times than he could count. 

He did pay attention to what they say. He’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t because he knew where they were coming from. (He was very much aware he was the same way with Stiles.) 

Still, it slipped his mind sometimes. Things like umbrellas and raincoats whenever it drizzled, getting the first aid kit when he cut his hand while cooking, or wearing a kevlar vest when raiding hunter hideouts — he tried to remember these things most of the time, tried to be more mindful of all the different ways he could get sick and hurt now. But sometimes he just forgot. 

That’s exactly what happened one rainy afternoon. 

Derek stepped out for a quick run to the grocery, and he just forgot. 

\-----

The road was slippery, but Derek didn’t worry about it. 

He’d just been given the clear to drive a couple of days ago. The first from his doctor, the second from his stupid, mother henning, over-protective albeit well-meaning alpha. His knee still ached a little here and there, and there was still the tiniest bit of a limp when he walked on it, but more or less he was back in full swing. 

So, Derek didn’t mind the rain. He even liked the feel of it, the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof of his car. _Besides_ , he thought to himself, _I can drive slow._

And he did. Derek was driving with care. He minded the slippery road, thinking about Stiles with that worried furrow forming on his brow. He thought about the gutted look on Stiles’ face in the hospital room, and how much he never wanted to see that look on his face ever again. 

But then there was a light. He got startled. The road became too slippery and he lost control of the wheel. 

There was a bump and a slide, and then a swooping sensation. He heard the sound of glass shattering, of creaking metal as the Camaro flipped and flipped and– 

\-----

The world was upside down. 

Derek blinked against the wet something dripping down his left eye. What was that? He wiped at his face and, _oh, blood._

He tried to move the rest of his body. Right hand, check. Left hand, check. Right leg, check. Left leg–

Derek screamed. 

Blinding pain.

Everything hurt and ached when he tried to move, and he was pretty sure he broke his right wrist. But his leg, 

Derek screamed again. 

Oh _god_ , okay, it was a bad idea to even just think of trying to wiggle it. 

God, where was he? What the fuck happened? He was just going to get groceries. Fuck, Stiles was definitely going to yell at him again. 

Stiles. He had to call Stiles. His phone, shit where was his phone? He looked around, left hand feeling through shards of glass and...is that dirt? Did he go off-road? 

Phone. He had to find his phone. 

He searched, head swiveling around as he hung by his seatbelt. He made the mistake of looking down (up?) at his left leg, which was...it was...there was the driver’s seat, the door of the car crumpled inward, and part of a tree, which he apparently landed on. His leg was somewhere in between. 

Fuck, he can’t breathe. Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? 

He kept reaching around until he felt his phone. Wow, his hands were shaking. He flipped his phone over praying it was still alive, and it was! _Thank, fuck._

Stiles was on his speed dial, and it was no wonder when his alpha answered after just one ring. 

“Derek? Derek where are you? Where are you right now? Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I– Stiles–” He tried to answer, but he was choking? What. “He– help. Stiles…” He kept trying to choke the words out but he was drowning. How, how can he be drowning? 

Blood dripped down his eyes. It wasn’t coming from his forehead, he realized. How could it, he was upside down? Right, he was upside down. The blood was coming from his mouth. 

He can’t breathe. He needed to, Stiles, “‘M sorry...so...Stiles…”

Then, nothing. 

\-----

“Derek? Derek! Talk to me!”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Dad! Help me, we need to– Help me! Get him out of there, somebody _get_ him out of there!”

“Stiles, man, move out of the way. Let the professionals help.”

“Let me go! I need to get him out! Scott, we need to get him out!”

\-----

Stiles didn’t like remembering how he found Derek that night. Dusk. _Almost too late._

_The moon was out, the last of sunlight lighting up the sky. A thick curtain of fog formed from the rain so even the ‘wolves had a hard time locating the wreckage._

_Stiles though, he found him (he will always find him), there, on the ditch, the Camaro turned upside down like a floppy pancake, driver’s side wrapped around a tree._

_Stiles ran. Still a good few meters away, he jumped out of the car his dad was driving and he ran, Derek’s voice ringing in his head. Derek choking out his name, scared, confused, desperate._

I just got him back. _He thought furiously as he got closer to the pile of metal that used to be Derek’s car._ You can’t take him away, I just got him back. 

_He ran faster, yelling Derek’s name again and again._

_Reaching the front of the car, he dove to the ground, eyes frantically searching, hoping not to find Derek on the driver’s seat._

_But there Derek was, dangling on (under) the car seat by his seatbelt, unconscious, bleeding, breathing painfully ragged, heartbeat slow, too slow._ _They thought–_

Stiles shook his head from the memory. 

Derek’s heartbeat wasn’t slow now. It was actually a bit accelerated as Stiles watched him go through the cereal aisle. Because the stubborn asshole insisted on stopping by the grocery store even though they both knew he was hella tired from physical therapy. 

The alpha kept a steady eye on how his m– _pack_ mate held his cane as he limped past all the healthy cereal brands and went straight for the Cocoa Puffs. Because Derek did that now, eat sugary cereal and walk with a limp. 

The accident aggravated his still-healing knee injury from the kidnapping. To put it lightly. 

When the Camaro wrapped itself around that tree, Derek’s left leg was crushed. It was a miracle doctors were able to put it back together. Now, a little over half a year later, Derek needed a cane to walk on his own. And he had just regained the ability to stand for up to twenty minutes without suffering torturous cramping for the whole night. 

_He’s lucky he can still walk on his own,_ the doctor unhelpfully informed them one month after the accident, _He’s lucky to still have the leg,_

Whenever Stiles remembered what happened, how he came the closest he’d ever gone to losing Derek, how even the bite, when Stiles tried to save Derek the way Derek saved him, couldn’t do anything, that’s what killed him the most.

Derek almost died and was now saddled with a permanent injury, not because of some asshole like Jared, a Beacon Hills monster-of-the-week, or a couple of trigger-happy hunters. It was all because of an accident. Because Derek became human. Because he gave up his ‘wolf. Because he saved, no, _loved_ Stiles. 

Who was Stiles to string Derek along on such a costly kind of love?

\-----

Derek smelled pancakes and bacon as he came down the stairs. While this usually made him feel all nice and fluffy because it reminded him of Sunday mornings with his deceased family, knowing the state of the dumbass who cooked it was probably in only soured his mood. 

He turned the corner, and there Stiles was, standing in front of his stove, cooking breakfast in his kitchen wearing nothing but plaid pajamas. Because Stiles didn’t like shirts in the mornings, regardless of how angsty he was being. And Derek needed this information in all the ways, except maybe this one. 

Yeah, Stiles moved in. Sort of. 

One day, about a week after Derek had been discharged from the hospital, Stiles showed up on his front door carrying two duffle bags and his laptop. He claimed one of Derek’s many guest rooms, the one downstairs, the farthest away from Derek’s own. And he took control of Derek’s schedule, shadowing Derek anywhere and everywhere he went. And yes, for a short while, this included his trips to the restroom, until Derek snapped at Stiles to cut it out.

Their pack had a very weird hierarchy. Stiles and Scott were the alphas — Stiles the strategist, Scott the diplomat. And Derek, well, Derek was the ex-alpha with the name, the bestiaries, and the traditional knowledge you just couldn’t get from a bunch of research. 

Most importantly, Derek had the claim to the land, a.k.a. the properties, a.k.a. the house. 

And everyone was welcome to Derek’s house, it was the _pack’s_ house. Cora lived there when she wasn’t in South America. Jackson and Ethan lived there when they visited from London. Isaac lived there permanently since coming back from France. Everyone else had a room, and everyone came and went however they so pleased. 

Even Stiles. Especially Stiles. 

Stiles came over a lot. But he never stayed over because of ...reasons. Maybe Derek-related reasons, maybe not. Derek always sorta knew. Stiles never really confirmed or denied. Everyone else sorta got it (there were bets).

But since the accident and the operation and the endless hours of hellish, torturous, life-sucking physical therapy, Stiles had been on Derek like an angsty, pale, mole-dotted shadow. He may have brought his things to Derek’s house, but there was always that implication that he was only staying for so long, and only because he had to take care of Derek. 

He made it his mission to be Derek’s guide, driver, chef, housekeeper, twenty-four-seven motherhenner. All while also avoiding Derek like the fucking plague.

It sounded impossible, but that was Stiles, always doing the impossible. 

Now there they were, in Derek’s kitchen, with Stiles cooking breakfast while shirtless and ignoring Derek. Derek hated _everything_. 

He sat on a bar stool by the kitchen counter, leaning his cane on the side, quietly as he can, trying not to give Stiles another reminder of his injury. Two plates full of crispy bacon and fluffy pancakes appeared in front of him. When he looked up, Stiles had disappeared. 

Derek sighed. 

A few moments later, Isaac emerged — straight from bed judging by the bedhead and the dried drool. He looked behind him as he entered the kitchen, and Derek knew he was probably watching Stiles go off somewhere. 

Isaac grabbed a chair beside him and they sat in silence for a while, enjoying the meal Stiles cooked but didn’t bother eating. Then, Isaac addressed the elephant in the room. 

“You know he blames himself.”

“Yeah,” Derek sighed again. 

“Gonna do something about it? He’s bumming us all out.”

Derek slapped his ex-beta upside the head. 

But yes, even if it meant conniving with Scott and the Sheriff, and tying Stiles to a chair using wolfsbane-infused rope, Derek really should do something about _it_. 

Derek winced, his leg cramping out of nowhere. He bit his bottom to keep from hissing from the pain, his hand going to his calf and massaging the marred flesh there. 

Isaac’s hand was on him in an instant, black veins snaking up his arms as he drained Derek’s pain. They didn’t say anything as Isaac helped Derek off the stool, handing him his cane before going back to his seat, and continuing with his breakfast. 

Derek limped out of the kitchen, fully aware of Isaac meeting Stiles’ eyes through the window. Isaac raised a brow at their alpha behind Derek’s back.

\-----

Isaac pulled up into the driveway and wished Derek luck. 

Derek climbed up the porch just as John and Scott stepped out the front door. 

“Thanks for this,” Derek greeted, pulling Scott in for a quick one-armed hug as the alpha helped him up the final step. 

“If I could’ve done this in his teenage years, my nerves would have greatly appreciated it,” John smirked, settling for a fatherly pat on his back. “Anytime, son.” 

“And like Isaac said,” Scott added, "good luck."

Then off the two went to let Derek and Stiles sort their shit out. 

Derek went inside his house, closing the circle of mountain ash as he passed through the door. When he turned around, Stiles was in the hallway looking a mixture of baffled and betrayed. 

“Did you just trap me here with mountain ash?”

“Yup.” Derek replied, popping the ‘p’ as he walked past him and went for their very comfortable, brand-new, aerodynamic sofa. He threw his cane on the cushion and got himself comfortable on his spot, ignoring Stiles turning to him with a dumbfounded face. 

“What the fuck, Derek? I have things to do!”

“Like what? It’s a Sunday,” Derek challenged, looking up at Stiles with a raised brow. Stiles stammered, upset.

Derek scoffed, “I thought so. Shut up. Sit down.”

“You’re not the boss of me. Unless you forgot, big guy, you’re not the alpha anymore. I’m the alpha now.”

“Don’t make me throw this pouch of mountain ash at you, because I will. Now, sit. down.” 

They had a stare-off, Stiles’ eyes going from Derek’s face to the pouch in his hand and back and forth. He eventually gave in, ‘argh’ing and pouting like the intimidating alpha he was. Then he proceeded to stomp his way to the armchair in front of Derek. 

Arms crossed, hunched in on himself, and glaring at everything but Derek’s face, Stiles sat there and sulked. 

_Alright then_ , it looked like Derek had to do the talking. A bad choice on Stiles’ end really, because he always preferred being–

“You’re avoiding me.”

–blunt. 

Stiles’ pout only deepened and he tried to turn his face farther away. 

Derek grabbed a throw pillow and aimed for Stiles’ stupid face. 

“Hey! That hit my scar!”

“Talk.”

Stiles clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, but he refused to talk. So Derek grabbed another pillow. 

Stiles swatted it away this time, but Derek’s pretty sure it would have hit him in the face. “Derek!”

“Are you going to talk or am I going to make you?”

Stiles’ eyes glowed alpha red, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. 

Fine then, guilt-tripping it was. Forgoing his cane on the couch, Derek stood up and walked over to where Stiles was sitting. 

“What are you doing now?” 

He lowered himself on the coffee table with a groan. 

“Derek don’t, your leg–”  
  
“Yes,” Derek paused, finding a comfortable position, straightening his left leg out to accommodate how low the coffee table was. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to topple over, he looked up at Stiles who was now extremely close. “It’s my leg and I’ll do what I want with it. And I will keep sitting here, making all of my muscles cramp, as long as you refuse to _talk to me_ , _Stiles_.” Derek’s voice softened, his tone turned beseeching. 

Stiles tried to lock his jaw and look away again, or glare at Derek with alpha eyes. But god those hazel eyes. 

Stiles blew a long breath through his mouth and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He wasn’t ready for this, but Derek won’t let him go unless he gave him something. 

“It’s just,” Stiles rubbed at his forehead again, gathering his thoughts. “Seeing you like that. It was,” he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“It was a lot, okay? And I just couldn’t deal with it, you know? The idea of losing you, especially like that.” Finally meeting Derek’s eyes, a little of the mask Stiles liked to wear fell away. “I don’t want to lose you like that.”

_I don’t want to lose you ever._

“So what, you push me away?” Derek gently called out. 

“Or keep you at a safe distance,” Stiles tried to placate, giving him a half-hearted smile. “That’s...that’s all this really is. I just want to keep you safe.”

Alright, Derek didn’t need werewolf hearing to detect the half-truth there. But he’ll take it, for now. 

“Okay, well. I don’t need to tell you how stupid that is, because you’ve given me _that_ lecture a thousand times.” Derek gave him a look saying _‘agree because denying it will only make you look more like a moron.’_

Stiles nodded, chuckling and blushing as he remembered all the times he yelled at Derek in his teenage years. 

“All I’ll say is this. Whatever you’re thinking? It’s wrong. Whatever you’re doing? Stop it. I’m human and a cripple now. Deal with it, because I have. Got it?” 

Stiles gave his affirmative, helpless. It didn’t mean it lessened his resolve on keeping Derek at a safe distance, he just had to be more...subtle about it. 

Derek made to stand up, and Stiles was quick to help him — hand to his elbow, another on his lower back. Once Derek was upright, they ended up standing close to each other. Extremely close, closer than they had ever been since the accident. 

For a moment they got lost in each other’s eyes, the view catching their breath away. Then Derek remembered Stiles was trapped in a mountain ash circle in his house for a reason. 

He cleared his throat, placing a hand on Stiles’ broad, muscular, wa– _chest_ , on Stiles’ chest to give them a little distance. And then he reminded his alpha. 

“I’m serious, Stiles. Stop being,” he waved his hand at everything Stiles, “whatever this is. It’s hurting the pack, _we’re_ hurting the pack. The pack that you love and worked so hard to keep safe. Let’s do better, yes?”

“Of course, Derek,” Stiles agreed. _Anything for you, Derek._

\-----

It finally happened on a bad day. 

\-----

It was a rare occasion for Derek to have the house all to himself, even before the accident. Between Stiles’ mother henning and the pack coming and going as they please, Derek never really had alone time in his own house. 

After the car crash, with Stiles’ mother henning only getting worse and most of the pack coming home to Beacon Hills to help him with his recovery, there were always two or more pack members showing up on his doorstep looking to “hang out”. 

It drove him insane. 

Thankfully, since he spoke with Stiles, the alpha and the rest of the pack had eased up. Stiles no longer tailed him like a lost puppy, and pack members no longer showed up in his house just as the others were leaving, like soldiers changing shifts. 

Still, it was rare for them to leave him as “vulnerable” as this. But Scott dragged Stiles out for some important Melissa-John business. Jackson and Ethan had a day planned with Lydia. Isaac was distracting John and Melissa to get brownie points from Scott. Kira had training with Malia. Cora was in South America again. And the rest were doing other things. 

Derek savored it. 

Armed in his favorite threadbare shirt and favorite pair of sweats, he took his cane and favorite pillow, snatched that throw that he liked from Stiles’ room, and parked his butt on the couch fully intent on wasting the day away on Netflix. 

Several hours later at half-past four, Derek was halfway through the season one finale of a great historical, zombie-centric Korean series when he realized his tumbler had run out of water. 

He clicked pause and stretched with care as he tried to get the kinks out of his leg. It happens when he sits for too long. His thigh got a bit stiff, and a knot formed on the backside of his calf. Carefully, Derek massaged his muscles to ease the little bit of ache there.  
  
He was really thirsty though. He looked behind him.

The kitchen wasn’t that far, he didn’t really _need_ to get his cane. It was so heavy, it really annoyed him having to walk with three legs sometimes. Besides, there were no packmates who'd freak out over him hopping his way to the kitchen counter, so...

_Fuck it._

Derek got up, and did exactly that. Carefully, he successfully reached the kitchen and got his water.

He was hopping his way back to the couch only a little bit smug about his success when he lost his balance. A few things happened quickly. 

He waved his hand around, water spilling everywhere. Reflex took over and he tried to catch himself with his bad leg. Pain shot up his side. Derek screamed. He fell on the floor, his entire left leg all the way to his hip burning with searing hot pain. 

He blacked out, maybe, probably. Because one second all he could think about was white-hot pain, the next he was peeling his cheek off of the hardwood floor. 

Still reeling from the sudden onslaught of _Fuck, oh fuck! That fucking hurts_. Derek tried to get up again but more carefully this time. 

He screamed again. 

His muscles are Cramped™ from his calf all the way to his left hip. Trying to move, trying to _twitch_ any part of his body sent a feeling of being stabbed repeatedly by a very dull and rusty knife just above the kidney. 

Stiles was so going to tell him ‘I told you so.’ 

If he could get Stiles. Because his phone was all the way on the coffee table, his tumbler rolled all the way back into the kitchen spilling water along the way, and his packmates were all the way across town. 

And Derek, fuck, it was humiliating to admit, but he can’t– He didn’t think he could even crawl because, fuck, was it hard just to breathe. 

Finally allowed to let his frustration out without worrying about his packmates’ or Stiles’ feelings for the first time, Derek hid his face on the floor and screamed one more time, this time in anger over his own fucking incompetence. 

He hit the floor with his fist repeatedly, yelling in outrage some more. 

Heaving from the pain, the anger, and all the screaming, he took another deep breath and told himself to get over it. 

_Relax, Derek_ , he told himself just like his P.T. coach told him every session, _relax, do what you can._

What he can do is put his arms to his sides and just get comfortable lying down on his stomach, on the floor of his living room. 

Still working to breathe through the pain, he started massaging his fucked up leg, wincing and hissing with every press of his fingers on his flesh. 

He let the tears of frustration flow. It’s fine, he’ll wipe them off before the others get home. 

He just...he just had to give himself a second, a minute. He just had to wait it out, then he’ll get back on the couch and it’ll be like nothing happened. 

  
  
  
  


Stiles could smell the distress coming from Derek as soon he and Scott pulled in the driveway. 

He’d been antsy all day, uncomfortable with the idea of Derek being left alone in the house with no one to help him should anything happen. He tried making excuses to cancel with Scott but Derek called him out on his bullshit and made him push through with his bro-date since he knew the best friends and co-alphas had planned for their thing weeks ago. 

After successfully pulling off the surprise anniversary date for their parents, Stiles felt a lot better and significantly less antsy. 

As the scent of Derek’s distress assaulted his senses though, his antsiness came crashing back. 

“Derek!” he called as he burst through the front door, Scott right behind him. “Derek!” 

He’s halfway through the hallway when he saw a pair of legs sticking out from behind the sofa. Now that he was paying attention, he could also hear muffled whimpering, _Derek’s_ muffled whimpering. 

Stiles yelled Derek’s name again and threw his jacket at Scott. He ran to his m- _his beta_ , finding him belly down on the floor, halfway to sleeping and his whole body trembling. Derek’s bad leg was spasming out, and with the spilled water, Stiles can guess what happened. 

“Hey,” Stiles tried to soothe, carefully placing his hands on Derek’s back. 

Derek turned his face to the side and looked up at Stiles. He seemed disoriented, tear stains on his cheeks, and his lips bitten red. “My leg,” he stammered.

“I know,” Stiles was quick to reassure, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“We should get him to the couch,” Scott said kneeling beside him. 

Stiles nodded, focused on steadying his hands. The two alphas worked together to carefully turn Derek on his back, Stiles reaching for the nearest inch of Derek’s exposed skin and getting right to draining Derek’s pain, but the ex ‘wolf still cried out with every movement. 

Once they’ve got Derek on his back, Scott got busy straightening out his legs. Stiles held onto Derek in comfort as Derek held tightly onto him, the pain drain working but slowly, Stiles not wanting to make Derek go into shock. 

The alphas gave Derek a second to breathe. 

“Do you think you can stand and walk?”

Derek, still holding onto Stiles, shook his head. He was getting dizzy from the pain drain but some of the ache and the anxiety that it would only get worse if he so much as jostled his leg was still there. 

The furrow between Stiles’ brow deepened, upset at seeing Derek in so much pain. 

“Okay. That’s okay, I got you. Scott could you, the couch?”

Scott went off to clear some space for Derek to lie down on, leaving Stiles to carry Derek. 

Stiles was wary not to jostle Derek too much, focused on keeping in touch with Derek’s skin so he can continue taking his pain. It was making Derek’s head swim, he almost wanted to tell Stiles to stop, but god did he not want the hurt to come back. 

Stiles carefully set Derek on the couch. He reached over, ripped the left side of Derek’s sweats, and got started on massaging the marred flesh under there without a word. He had been doing it for months since Derek started his physical therapy. Derek was there when Stiles made his coach teach him what to do in case of a day just like this. 

Derek was touched then. He was so fucking grateful now. 

As Stiles’ nimble fingers pressed and nudged through his flesh, black veins never stopped coursing through the alpha’s hands. 

Even through his pain-drain addled mind, Derek still fought to catch Scott’s eyes, sending him a look asking the alpha to make sure Stiles didn’t overdo it. Scott gave him a practiced nod. 

Stiles saw this from the corner of his eye as he focused on his task at hand. He always saw it when Derek worried about him. Like always, he let the warm feelings wash through him and let the need to express his affection for his m- for Derek go. 

Scott left the two of them to it, busying himself with cleaning up the spilled water and everything else. 

Derek’s breathing eventually evened out, his muscles under Stiles’ hands relaxed, the scent of his distress replaced with content and affection. 

Stiles kept the pain drain up for a minute longer just to make sure Derek no longer hurt. When he saw Derek was asleep, he let go. 

“I’ll call the pack, tell them to give the house to you tonight.”

Stiles startled, he forgot Scott was still there. “That’s…,” he turned to face his brother, “You don’t need to do that.”

Scott only scoffed at him, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “Right.”

With that, he left Stiles and Derek alone. Stiles heard him speak to Lydia over the phone as he got back to his car. 

Soon it was just Derek and Stiles in the house, Derek tired and fast asleep, Stiles shaken and quickly spiraling. 

_This is why_ , he reminded himself, _This is why._

  
  
  


Derek woke up to the clinking of dishes. He looked to his left to find Stiles placing a tray of food on his bedside table. 

Wait. _How did I get to bed?_

_Oh. Right._ He was home alone. He slipped. Then Stiles and Scott found him on the floor, crying and unable to get up. 

_Right._

Now it was night time and Stiles, who definitely noticed that he was already awake, was refusing to look his way or meet his eyes. 

Derek internally sighed. _Right._

Stiles straightened up and stepped back, arms folding over his chest. “I, uh,” he scratched his chin. He hadn’t shaved yet Derek noticed, “I made you dinner. Also talked to your P.T. coach, he said you shouldn’t get back on your feet for 24 hours. So you definitely shouldn’t leave your bed until at least dinner time tomorrow. I already told the rest of the pack.” 

The _‘so you don’t try to do anything stupid’_ , went unsaid but definitely heard. 

Derek just kept looking at the alpha, wondering how long it would take for Stiles to lift his gaze from the floor. 

“I’m sorry for,” Stiles waved at his legs hidden under the covers, “your sweats. I know they were your favorite but given the circumstances...” Stiles shrugged biting his bottom lip as he stopped talking, worrying it with his teeth. 

His leg was bouncing up and down. Derek didn’t need to be a ‘wolf to sense the anxiety in the air. 

Derek sat up and moved the covers off of him, revealing his sweats ripped off almost completely on the left side, his mangled left leg exposed. 

Derek winced, swallowing back unfounded embarrassment. 

It’s not like he was ashamed of his leg, or was actively trying to hide it, but he prevented Stiles from seeing it as much as he could, hoping it would help the alpha get back to treating him like the old Derek again — strong, capable, someone to bicker with, an equal. Obviously that didn’t work. 

_Alright, new tactic._

Using his hands, he lifted his bad leg all the way out from under the covers and rested it back on the bed in Stiles’ full view. Stiles’ eyes were drawn to it, and instantly he saw guilt and pity just as he expected. 

Stiles quickly tried to excuse himself. “I’ll go–“

“Hey Stiles,” Derek cut in, “could you?” he gestured towards his leg, “Sorry, it just, it hurts a little.”

Stiles hesitated for a second, obviously wanting to get away from a conscious Derek as soon as he can. But he could never say no to Derek about this. 

Rubbing the back of his head, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in a hard swallow, the alpha agreed. _Take care of mate_. “Yeah, sure.”

Stiles carefully sat down on the edge of Derek’s bad, hands making easy work on Derek’s leg. Derek leaned back, closing his eyes for a second, his leg really was aching a bit, though it was just the lingering psychosomatic ache that the doctors warned him about and that he had to deal with most days. 

After enjoying the brief comfort, he opened his eyes, gaze steady on Stiles’ face as the alpha focused on working his nimble fingers, and then Derek got on with it. 

“You know,” he spoke softly to the room, “sometimes I wish they’d just cut it off.”

Stiles’ hands slowed but didn’t falter, his brows furrowed, “Why...why would you say that?”

“I’d probably walk better with a prosthetic. I could train. I wouldn’t have as much of a limp, not as bad cramps. Plus, no cane, no scar. Fewer reminders for you of how damaged I’ve become."

Stiles stopped then and looked up at Derek, obviously taken aback. “I don’t think you’re damaged.”

Derek scoffed and raised a brow at Stiles. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Stiles unconsciously moved closer to Derek, adamant, “No, Derek I–“

“After getting discharged, you coddled me but also stopped talking to me. Started avoiding being alone with me. Started hanging out with everyone but me. Won’t let me attend pack training days _or_ pack meetings. And you always make _that_ face.” Derek counted off one by one. 

“What face? I don’t make a face.”

“Your ‘Woe is Derek’ face. You’re doing it right now.”

“No I’m not! I don’t make a face, _Derek_.”

“You do, _Stiles_. And I’m sick of it!” The older man hit the alpha with the nearest pillow. 

“Ow!” Stiles exclaimed, rubbing at his arm. “Hey!”

“I thought we had an understanding, I thought we had a plan! Of how and when we were finally going to say It™. But since that stupid accident and this stupid leg, you…you…you flaked! You flaked on me, Stiles! What else am I supposed to think except that I’ve become too damaged for you?”

Stiles looked ready to give a comeback, but he was stopped by Derek’s words. _That’s not true,_ he wanted to say, _It’s not like that at all._ Should he though, say something? Maybe it was better if Derek thought this was why, that Stiles was just a shallow douchebag. Maybe this was his out. 

Another pillow hit him, this time on the face. 

“Stop it!” Stiles cried out, grabbing the pillow and throwing it across the room. 

“The truth, Stiles. Don’t make me trap you in another mountain ash circle.”

Stiles ran his hand down his face and took a deep breath. “I– Derek– I don’t know what you want me to say.”

This time Derek crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me why you ignored the plan. Why you’re pushing me away?”

Stiles turned to face the wall. “I just…” He exhaled through his mouth. 

It was hard to gather his thoughts, but sneaking a quick glance at Derek, Stiles saw that he wasn’t getting out of this. 

“I found you...in that car. It was bad, Der. You looked...It was bad. I know I’ve found you in worse shape before, but you were still a werewolf then and I knew you’d pull through. And with Jared, you know, it sucked, it was hell. But it was still part of the course, just part of living in Beacon Hills. A car accident though?” Stiles shook his head. 

“That’s not how you’re supposed to go. You were supposed to survive, and, and to _heal_ from that. But because you love me, because you love _me_ , you lost your wolf. You almost lost your leg. You lost the respect of so many people. And the list goes on!” 

“You’ve already lost so much, Derek. And I feel like, because of loving me, you’re losing so much more. I can’t– I can’t.”

Tears spilled over those amber eyes. Derek couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

He reached for Stiles’ hand and Stiles willingly held onto his. 

“You died in my arms, you know?” 

That day, that fateful day when a pack of feral omegas ambushed Stiles, roles reversed, and Derek and Stiles cemented their parts in each other’s lives forever. 

“Your heart stopped, your body went limp. There was so much blood, I could barely recognize your face. I didn’t know which injury to tend to first, which pain to take away. I just knew I didn’t want you to die and that I would give anything, _anything_ to bring back that annoying heartbeat I can’t seem to live without.”

“I know the fear, Stiles. I know it well. But, let’s not–” Derek entwined their fingers together, “let’s stop letting it stop us from going ahead and getting to know something else, something better, something happier. We’ve played this game long enough, don’t you think?” He finished with a soft smile, trying to catch Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles’ head stubbornly remained turned down. 

“Hey, moron,” fed up, Derek grabbed Stiles by the chin and turned that face towards him. He made sure Stiles’ eyes were looking into his. 

“I love you.” There, he finally said it. 

“I didn’t lose my wolf because I love _you_ ,” Derek emphasized. “I sacrificed my wolf, I gave up a part of myself, I put myself in the most vulnerable position I have ever been in in my entire life, supernatural and human, because _I_ love you.” 

“So if anything, this–” he gave his bad leg a light tap, “–is my fault. Given the chance, I’d do it again.”

Derek waited. He watched the emotions course through those amber eyes. 

_Please say it back,_ he prayed. _Please._

Stiles pulled him in. He kept pulling Derek in until their lips were touching, until they were kissing, and kissing, and kissing. Stiles kept pulling him in. 

“I love you, too,” Stiles gasped, breaking for air. “No more sacrifices. I love you, too.” 

Derek agreed. He pulled Stiles right back in, he agreed. 

\-----

The night after they confess, Stiles and Derek shared a bed but didn’t have sex. 

They kissed and kissed and kissed, but nothing more. More was for later, they had the time for later.

Instead, they settled into sleep, Stiles adamant that Derek got the rest he needed. 

The following morning, Derek woke up to the sight of Stiles’ face smushed into his pillow, the alpha, _his_ alpha snuffling and making unintelligible noises as he dreamed. 

The sunlight hit the side of his face, emphasizing the outline of his scar. Derek carefully, lightly traced it with his finger.

_Now we match,_ he thought morosely, gladly. 

In all the hard ways, in all the ways that mattered, finally, they matched. Finally, they were together. 


End file.
